


Coming Home

by msbluesunflower



Series: 1917 [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Reincarnation, Reunions, should read part 1 first
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-21 03:02:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14907095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msbluesunflower/pseuds/msbluesunflower
Summary: Of course it’s Steve who finds him. Steve always finds him, in games of hide-and-seek when they were kids, at the Hydra base in Azzano, and now.And this is how.Sequel to '1917'.





	Coming Home

**Author's Note:**

> This is my fic from 2015. I recently decided to do some edits and repost the extras as a series because it made more sense that way. You should read part 1 of this series aka the main fic, 1917, first.

_**May 2012** _

It’s all dizzying: The strange-looking cars coming towards him, the buildings that hit the clouds in Midtown that he’s never seen, the giant screens in Time Square that’s surrounding him, the colors, the light, the noise, the crowd.

This is New York, but this isn’t New York.

“You’ve been asleep, Cap, for almost seventy years.” The man wearing an eye patch says to him.

Steve tries to breathe. The air is thick and heavy and he realizes he doesn't _want_ to be breathing _._

He thinks about Bucky, whether he’s still waiting. And if there’s still a way for him to get to him now.

 _Seventy years._ He closes his eyes, _Christ._

The police sirens are blaring, the crowd is closing in around him, and the man, the director of SHIELD, is looking at him with concerned eyes.

“It’s just,” He says, looking around aimlessly as if he’ll find _him_ somewhere, “I had a date.”

 

 

_**July 2nd 2012** _

“On your left.”

Steve doesn’t know how many times he’s run past the darker-skinned man sitting on the park bench. The man is reading a book, and every time Steve runs by, he’d look up.

This time he closes his book.

 “Dude, that’s just unfair.”

And Steve stops and walks towards him, smirking. “What can I say?”

The man smiles, shaking his head.

“Sam Wilson.” He holds out his hand.

“Steve Rogers.” Steve says just to be polite, even though the guy must’ve recognized him.

“You getting used to this 21st century thing yet?”

“It’s...well, it’s new and exciting and all, but I think I need some more time to catch up. See, I got a list.” Steve pulls out the small notebook in his pocket and shows it to Sam.

“Apple, yes. Linkin Park, that’s important. Star Trek, even more important.” Sam reads off the list with an amused look, but Steve’s losing focus. And when Sam looks up, he finds Steve staring at the book on his lap.

“Ah, this book should also be on your list, man.” Sam holds it up. The book looks worn, and it seems like it’s been read from cover to cover many times. And when Steve sees the title and the author’s name, he freezes.

_The End of the Line by J. B. Barnes_

“You okay, Cap?” Sam frowns, looking concerned, and Steve snaps back to reality, but doesn’t take his eyes off the book cover.

“What is it about?”

“...Well, now that I think about it I’m not sure if you’ll like it, because it’s about you. But it’s beautifully written.” Sam flips through it casually, “I’ve read it for god-knows-how-many times now. Everyone thought you were dead, Cap, but in this novel they find you under the ice, because the serum kept you alive. And _damn_ was the novel a hit, especially after the letters.”

 _The letters._ It hits him then. _Those letters._

“Then people were like, maybe you really are under the ice the whole time! They found your dog tags in the Alps, too, and that sent a whole other wave of people to the Arctic. They even got funding from Tony Stark.”

“Howard’s son.”

“That’s right.” Sam nods, “It’s quite extraordinary, how it all happened. Everyone believed that the author must be a psychic or something.”

“And the author,” Steve asks nervously, staring at the silver colored initials underneath the title, “What’s his full name?”

“That’s even more bizarre.” Sam laughs, “His name is James Buchanan Barnes, like —”

“Like Bucky.” Steve breathes.

“His parents were fans of the comic books or something.” Sam shrugs. “He's only 27, I think, technically a year older than you, if you don't count the years you were frozen, works a day job at the Historical Society. Has a ton of fans on Twitter, too. "

“Look, Sam, can I borrow this book? I'll give it back to you soon.”

“No need. You can keep it. I'm close to memorizing this thing by heart now." Sam hands the book to him. It's a hardcover, solid and warm in his hands, strangely comforting.

Sam checks his phone then. “Ah, the author is doing a signing in Midtown tomorrow, if you wanna go meet him.”

“I'll see. ” Steve nods, starting to walk away, “Thanks, Sam.”

“No problem.” Sam waves, “I'll see you around.”

 

 

> _Peggy Carter in a red dress is a stunning sight. And with the way Steve looks in his brand new military uniform, they make the perfect pair. She's the right partner Steve's always been waiting to find, she's the only one deserving of him._
> 
> _‘But that's not right’, a voice in him says, angry and menacing, ‘It should've been you.’_
> 
> _Bucky looks at Carter before glancing back at Steve and seeing the pure adoration in his bright blue eyes. He's dreamed of being on the receiving end of that gaze. The pang of jealously that hits him then is more painful than the punches and bullets he's taken. Even after Carter walks out, he can't seem to shake the feeling._
> 
> _But Steve doesn't notice him, and Bucky is starting to think he never will again._
> 
> **(Barnes, J. B. _The End of the Line_. Random House. New York. 2009. Print)**

 

Steve finishes the book at around midnight. He usually reads faster than this, but not today. With this book, he savors every word.

_It doesn’t make sense._

It doesn’t make sense how in the first half, the author is able to capture their life together with words so precise like he had been there to see it: The depression, the winter, his asthma, the war, and the fall. This book isn’t a novel, it’s taken right out of Steve’s memory. And there’s only one person who shared all those memories. _That’s impossible._

The second half, on the other hand, breaks his heart. For once he’s glad that Bucky is gone, and didn’t actually live through the decades of pain and torture like the novel describes. But simply reading it is a torture. To think that Bucky could’ve gone through all that without him by his side, without someone there to protect him and remind him of who he really is—The thought alone is a knife stabbed into Steve’s chest.

The ending is supposed to fixed it, but it doesn’t, not for Steve. It’s an ending he’ll never get to have.

Bucky didn’t love him in that way. Bucky loved him like a friend, like a brother, but not like a lover. Everyone looked at him different after the serum, but Bucky didn’t seem impressed. It made Steve feel so small, like he’s still the five feet, scrawny, asthmatic kid, pretending to be tall in that brand new uniform. He stood by Bucky’s side that way, quietly pining and waiting and hoping until all hope is gone.

Steve wants to go say ‘thank you’ to the author, for telling the truth about him, for showing the world the man he really was. He opens up a web page on his new phone and types in _J. B. Barnes_ , the first thing that comes up seems to be his information.

**_James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes_ **

**_American Author, born March 10th, 1985 in Brooklyn, New York_ **

The photo on the side is loading slowly. And when the full picture appears, Steve almost drops his phone.

It’s the moment when he starts to believe in miracles.

 

**_July 3rd 2012_ **

The man, no, _Bucky_ , Steve’s sure, is signing the last of the books. He watches from the corner, and Bucky doesn’t notice. But when the last girl leaves, he starts packing up his books and pens, and that’s when he sees him.

Bucky’s staring right at him, surprise flashes in his eyes for a brief second. Steve feels like he might burst into tears any second now. Because that face, _that man —_

Bucky doesn’t look like he’s going to come towards him. The shock has fixed him to the floor, and his mouth is hanging open, his eyes wide like deer in headlights. Steve walks toward him instead. He keeps his steps slow and steady, or he’d surely fall.

“I wasn’t born in 1917.” When he gets there, Bucky says, “But I am who you think I am.”

“I know.”

And he _does_ know. Steve doesn’t need any proof to know that he _is_ Bucky. In fact, he doesn’t even need to look on his face, because the truth is he’ll recognize him anywhere and everywhere, whether in heaven, in hell, or on this earth, at the beginning of time or at the end of the world. He feels tears in his eyes then, clouding his vision.

He’s found him. _At last._

Steve thinks there’s nothing that could make him feel more grateful for being alive, and then there is — Bucky takes his hand, lacing their fingers together like they used to do back in the day.

“And I love you, Stevie.” Bucky says then, and Steve forgets how to breathe because it’s not real, it _can’t_ be real. But he doesn’t stop, his gaze unwavering.

“I love you so much I came back to life for you.”

 

 _ **July 4th 2012**_  

When Steve wakes up that morning, Bucky isn’t next to him.

He panics instantly. His chest is heaving and his lungs stop working properly. He almost thinks it’s an asthma attack, one he hasn’t had in seventy years.

_Was it all just a dream? How Bucky had said he loved him, how they held each other at night when they drifted to sleep._

Steve only notices a minute later that he isn’t in his own bed. This is Bucky’s apartment, and Bucky’s books, laptop, and coffee mug are still on the bedside table. He starts to calm down, and that’s when the bedroom door opens.

“Hey, you’re up.” Bucky walks over and sits on the edge of the bed, keys, a bag of bread and a mail package in hand, his voice cheerful and bubbly like the summer air. But he frowns when he sees the expression on Steve’s face. When Steve reaches out and pulls him into a tight embrace, he just hugs him back.

“I,” Steve chokes up, “I thought — ”

“You thought it wasn’t real.” Bucky finishes it for him, because he’s always been able to do that. Then he turns to kiss Steve’s temple, carding his fingers through his hair. “Don’t be an idiot.”

After a long moment, Bucky lets go of Steve, before grabbing the package on the bed and ripping it open.

“I pulled some strings to get this one.” He takes the small object out of the bag, before dropping it into Steve’s hand, “Happy birthday.”

It’s his dog tags.

“How?”

“Some hiking group found it in the Alps. You know, had it around my neck when I fell and all.” Bucky cocks his head, smirking, “I have a friend at the Smithsonian. She kind of...stole it when they got it as a donation.”

“Wow. I should meet her.”

“The two of you would so get along. Troublemakers.” Bucky rubs his left temple, “Anyway. Giving it back to its rightful owner now.”

“That'd be you, not me.” Steve shakes his head, tugging at the collar of his t-shirt, before pulling out a matching chain. “And I’d rather keep yours.”

“You still have it?”

“’Course. Had it under the ice with me the whole time.” Steve fiddles with it, smiling so wide his face almost hurts, “Think it’s what kept me alive.”

“Still a hopeless romantic, Rogers.”

Steve puts the chain around Bucky’s neck. The tags fall right over his heart, where they belong.

“Only for you, Barnes.”

And when Bucky leans over to kiss him, Steve tastes heaven on his lips. Everything he needs, he’s got right now, right here.

He suddenly remembers what he wrote in that last letter, all those years ago. And he wants to tell the world now, tell it out loud.

_He’s home._


End file.
